No Going Back: A desperate mother's last-ditch plan to escape from Turkey with her son

Summary

During a routine family holiday to her husband’s homeland of Turkey, Lisa Kennedy was suddenly told their marriage was over. Her husband took their six-month-old baby from her care and instructed her to go home to Australia, alone – beginning four years of hell in Istanbul as she fought the case through both Turkish and International courts all the while battling people she once called family, now hell-bent on not letting her leave with her only son.

Lisa fought for Turkish permanent custody and an International Hague return order simultaneously, so that she could return to Australia legally with her child. However, the protracted processes through a foreign legal system kept them in a holding pattern with no end in sight.

Finally, with time against her and all faith lost in legal channels, Lisa realised she had only a mother’s choice: she had to save her child and get back home by whatever means available. That meant calling on outside help and, to raise awareness about the frailties of international marriage and children, 60 Minutes agreed to film the plight.This is the story of that fraught, heart-stopping escape

Book Preview

No Going Back - Lisa Kennedy

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Soothing seven-month-old Daniel as he cries in his baby seat, I give him his dummy for the third time, and he spits it out again. I stroke his hair and forehead gently and his cries subside for a few moments. I’ve climbed into the backseat with him, as we sit in gridlock. Stefan has come to pick us up from the dock on his way back from his sister Didem’s office, since we took a ferry to Istanbul’s Asian side today, just to fill in the time really. It was a lovely day, a bit chilly but entertaining overall. I caress his forehead thoughtfully, proud of him for making it through such a long day.

‘Come on, sweetheart, it won’t be much longer, go off to sleep,’ I whisper to Daniel, but it has taken much longer than expected to go the ten kilometres and he’s just over it. There’s tension in the car and we sit silently while Daniel screams, both just praying he’ll nod off.

Reaching the house at last, with Daniel now fast asleep, we tiptoe him upstairs and carefully place him into his cot. Listening to your baby cry is the most dreadful feeling in the world and so emotionally exhausting. Both of us weary from the ordeal, we just snack for dinner; it’s too late to cook a meal anyway. Stefan sits in the lounge room drinking wine and I head to the bedroom to read.

*

All three of us are up early the next morning, and Stefan is ready to leave before 8 a.m. ‘Why are you leaving so early?’ I ask.

‘The business is really busy, I’ve got to make calls to Australia before the day ends there,’ he answers. ‘I’m going to take Daniel to my family’s home around 5 p.m. tonight. You could go food shopping if you don’t want to come?’

‘Sure, good idea,’ I respond. ‘Just have him back by 7 p.m. for me to put him to bed … seriously,’ I warn him, knowing he doesn’t respect the routine I have for Daniel on occasion, which really upsets me.

Later that morning, I call Stefan to let him know that we left the pram in his car last night and I need it. He is very short with me on the phone, but says he’ll drop it at the kapaci, building manager, who will bring it up to me. I find it so frustrating needing him for everything when I’m here; I hate not having a car or my usual independence. Whilst I enjoy being here on holiday, with a baby it has been far more trying than I expected. I remind myself that we’ve only got one month until we return home to Australia and then I’ll be wishing to be back here; I do love not working and just spending the days watching Daniel learn about the world around him.

Almost two hours later, the pram arrives via the kapaci, and I can finally get out of the house. Luckily, neither Stefan nor Didem have come up to the apartment and I hope I don’t bump into them while I’m out; my feelings are lukewarm towards them right now. Daniel and I have a wonderful time at the playground. I go down the slide with him sitting on my lap and he is elated, his mouth wide open as his squeals of delight pierce the air. Other mums watch us intently, and I feel their stares. I am so interactive with Danny, in stark contrast to them, sitting on benches, covered from head to toe with babies safely in their prams. Older kids are hovered over by their parents, barely allowed to breathe without permission. I struggle with these types of cultural differences and I’m glad Stefan encourages active play with Danny. I don’t indulge their opinionated side-glances. I turn the other cheek and continue whizzing down the slide with Danny.

Stefan arrives at exactly 5 p.m. to collect Daniel. He offers to drop me at the supermarket but I’m content to walk and have some breathing space. I go to kiss them goodbye. Stefan hands Daniel to me, instead of our usual group hug. I’m getting a weird vibe but I dismiss it, as I’ve read so much about men handling the new pressures of fatherhood in strange ways. While I’ve taken to motherhood like a duck to water, it seems to have hit Stefan hard, and I simply don’t have the time with him alone to fully understand his worries. I see him leaning on his family and that’s fine with me. We have so many big changes coming up and I don’t want to rock the boat or question him excessively. I’m sure his family is doing more than enough of that.

I decide to walk to the shops, but some kind of mother’s intuition is bothering me. I don’t go shopping and end up circling around the block several times before wandering aimlessly back to the apartment, awaiting their return. As a new mum, you’re caught between wanting a rest from the constant demands of having a small baby and the longing for them the moment that break comes. Knowing Stefan will probably disrespect my sleeping schedule, as he has so many times recently, I watch the clock, ready to call him at 7 p.m.

I pick up the phone, thinking the feeling in my stomach is alerting me to an impending argument. I don’t want to fight, but both Stefan and his family’s resistance to my parenting decisions have been gnawing at me; I feel like it’s me against them and I want to address that.

I call him. He answers.

‘Hi, Stefan, when are you coming back? I have to put Danny to sleep,’ I ask with anticipation.

‘We are not coming back,’ he says coldly.

‘What?’ I ask, shocked, wondering what’s happened.

‘We are never coming back,’ he continues, his voice sounding unfamiliar. ‘I’ve filed for divorce, you will get the papers next week. Daniel is staying with me; you should make plans to go back to Australia.’

With the life energy draining out of me, I walk to the window looking for air, propping myself up against the window sill. ‘What are you talking about?’ I demand, my head spinning, my hands shaking.

‘I will talk to you once you’ve calmed down,’ he says, with no emotion. ‘Don’t come here, don’t call me. This is serious, Lisa, don’t call me. I’ll call you when you’ve calmed down.’

He hangs up.

The room around me expands. Or I shrink. I feel like I’m dying. I want Daniel. I can’t even comprehend what Stefan just said. I don’t care – I want Daniel. Right now.

‘I want Daniel,’ I say out loud. ‘I want Daniel.’

‘I want Daniel, I want Daniel,’ I repeat, crying now. I’m walking, I sit down, I stand up, I go to the bedroom. I want Daniel, I keep repeating in my head.

I instinctively rush to the top shelf, looking for the red pouch where we keep our passports. I grab it down. I sit on the bed, too afraid to look. I want Daniel, I keep thinking.

I open it, already knowing. There is my passport. Nothing else. Stefan’s passport is gone. Daniel’s passport is gone.

I curl up into a ball on the bed, screaming in physical pain for my baby. This is my worst nightmare. Kicking and screaming, crying, struggling to breathe, fighting ghosts.

All I can think is that I want Daniel. I can’t stay here without him. Even for one minute longer. I just need him – no, he needs me. He can’t be without me. I need my baby back!

I sit up abruptly. I want Daniel. Okay, how do I diffuse this situation? Stefan is clearly losing his mind. No, I don’t have any thoughts for him. I want Daniel. I know where he is. I know how to get through security. I sit upright and start breathing again. ‘Get Daniel,’ I tell myself. Go and get Daniel. I walk to the bathroom and splash my face. I get a tailored jacket from the wardrobe. I need to slip by the security at Stefan’s parent’s compound, and I’ve seen how the residents do it. ‘I’ll walk confidently through the resident’s revolving door,’ I tell myself. I put my hair in a bun, so I’m less recognisable.

I grab the keys and my sunglasses. The sun is still out. I walk decisively. My breathing is heavy. I’m scared but I need Daniel. They will back down when they see me. How could they do this? Why would they do this? No, don’t think about it. Just get Daniel, Lisa. Then you can figure the rest out.

Reaching the street across from Stefan’s family’s gated residence, I stand at the lights looking across at my target.

‘Stroll confidently through the resident’s door,’ I say to myself, trying to stay calm. ‘No one will stop you. You can do this.’

The green man flashes and I start walking. I make it to the footpath and see the revolving door. I stride confidently towards it. I go inside and make it through. Relief hits me.

Now I’m angry. I walk towards the family’s apartment.

Someone taps my shoulder. I turn around to see a guard. My body tingles. I break down crying on the spot. He says something in Turkish and gently grabs my arm to turn me around towards the exit. Sadness hits me like a tidal wave. My baby is just over there. I need my baby. I reach out for him, feeling he is so close.

The guard leads me out.

I’m on the street with absolutely nowhere to go. I feel limp. Who is going to help me?

It’s dusk but not dark yet. The sky is a swirl of colours, pinks intertwined with bright blue and streaks of grey.

I’ve got it, I think to myself, my eyes lighting up. I’ll go to Didem’s house. She’ll help me, she will see reason, she will explain what’s going on. I soothe myself with the idea of this lifeline to a husband I no longer know.

I walk purposefully and with hope in a situation I am quickly adjusting to. All I need is to get Daniel back to my safety. In my arms. I don’t trust Stefan with him, and most certainly not in this situation.

Don’t think about it, I warn myself. Let’s just focus on asking for Daniel, and Stefan can do as he pleases, once I have him safe. There is now a team conversation going on in my head, as an overarching ‘parental’ voice is guiding me not to think about myself but just to protect my baby. I sense danger.

For the first time, I am glad that both Stefan’s parents’ house and Didem’s are within a short walk of where I am staying.

I march the familiar path, through the park, past the mosque, across the road, along the walkway behind the many apartments to either side, through a clearing, past the little strip of shops and here I am. Two identical blue apartments, Didem’s being the first one from the way I am approaching.

I see her husband’s name on the button and I press it.

It rings out.

I press it again.

The blood drains from my face. I am so terrified.

I press it again, and again, and again. Bullshit. Heartless. Cowards. Where are you?

I call her. No answer. I call again. I start yelling out, ‘Didem, I know you’re up there!’

I call her house phone. No answer. I call again. Ramazan, her husband, answers and speaks Turkish down the phone to me. Not understanding his words but understanding the situation, I now realise none of them are going to help me. Is this a conspiracy? They are on his side, of whatever his issue is, whatever his demand will be. Not only have I been deserted by my husband in his country, but also by his family, the only family I have here.

Dejected, I stand out the front for a while. I have nowhere to go. No one to go home to. No one to care for. Nothing.

Part I

Before

‘Nobody is perfect, until you fall in love with them.’

— Unknown

Chapter 1

A Chance Meeting

Ten years earlier …

Some of the girls and I were gathered on the top level of a popular club, waiting for our friends to get their coats and for us to find everyone so we could leave together – always such an arduous process! I was leaning on the bannister, fatigued at this point, and I turned to the guy standing next to me to ask for the time. In a thick accent, something I found attractive, he answered, ‘One twenty-three a.m.’ Hearing the time made me even more tired.

As I yawned, looking around at the few friends scattered near me searching for the others, the tall, dark stranger struck up a conversation. I strained to understand what he was saying, but there was an instant attraction between us. Chemistry. As often happened back then, when my friends saw our intimate conversation, they moved away to give us some privacy. One caught my eye and smiled.

He was a student at Melbourne University and lived in the city. He said his name was Stefan but I didn’t catch which country he came from. I wasn’t too sure of what else he said and I didn’t really care, except that he ended up asking for my number. I agreed happily, trying not to seem overly eager, but I was. He promised to call me the next day. He was alone and he said he was about to leave as well. One of my friends came over at this point and said everyone was finally ready to go. I politely farewelled the handsome foreign student.

I lived at home with my parents and my younger brother James and sister and Carolyn. They were both still at high school while I was in my second year at university after taking a gap year to travel and live in California. I was studying photography and working part-time in a studio. My mum was a stay-at-home mum and had always been there for us. I was very close to her although she gave me plenty of space to grow and learn from my mistakes. She was the kind of mum who would greet us after school with icy poles on a hot day. My dad could be gruff in his approach to discipline, so us kids tried to avoid getting into trouble with him. We lived in a big house in the north-east of Melbourne and were a close-knit family when not squabbling, as is often the case in families with a mix of personalities.

The following day, while I was flopped down on the couch, mindlessly watching TV, the house phone on the wall in the kitchen rang. My sister Carolyn was in there with Mum, and she answered it, but hung up after a few seconds.

I asked her why she had hung up and she said, ‘I don’t know, there was some weird guy on the phone and I couldn’t understand what he said, so I hung up.’

All of a sudden, I knew it had been Stefan! I was so excited. Guys never ring when they say they will. ‘Damn it,’ I mumbled under my breath, disappointment flooding through me. Now I’d never know and I didn’t have his number … my heart sank. I was furious with Carolyn but I knew she wasn’t to know. In the middle of these thoughts, the phone rang again.

‘Let me get it!’ I yelled, jumping up from the couch and racing over to the phone cradle. ‘Hi,’ I said, slightly out of breath while receiving strange looks from Mum and Carolyn.

‘Hi, it’s Stefan,’ he said with his thick, sexy accent. ‘Why did you close the phone?’

‘Oh, I didn’t, that was my sister,’ I answered apologetically. ‘Sorry about that.’

I recovered the conversation and he asked me out to a movie.

‘Of course, I would love to,’ I answered, thrilled at his proposal.

The date was set for Wednesday night and I was impressed by how he didn’t waste time. He made me feel special, even in only two short interactions. This was the kind of guy I was looking for. For the next two days, seeing Stefan again was all I could think about.

Wednesday finally arrived. It was a mild afternoon but I knew the night would be freezing. I rushed out of my tutorial and into my car. I lit up a cigarette to calm my nerves. Driving home, I played out possible scenarios in my head and tried to get the fantasy in my mind to match up with my foggy memory of our short encounter. I wore my favourite black pants and a top that showed off my décolletage, wanting to impress him. I put on probably too much make up, with TT FM blasting in the background. I drove into the city and left my car at an overpriced car park.

I rang up to his apartment with high hopes. He answered but the door didn’t buzz me in. I tried again and heard his muffled voice but I couldn’t decipher it. I rang a few more times with no answer. Suddenly, Stefan appeared, walking towards me in a slow, seductive swagger. At that moment, it hit me. I was in love. Or at the very least, lust. Something was just different; the world changed for me in that instant. I was hot and flushed all over. He was so much better looking than I remembered.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ he said, making me feel more comfortable and yet still nervous.

‘Hi, Stefan,’ I replied, melting, looking up at him.

‘Can I hold your hand? It’s cold outside.’

‘I would love that,’ I said, as our hands intertwined.

We strolled hand in hand through Melbourne city, past lit-up churches and laneways crowded with diners. It was bitingly cold now, but I couldn’t feel a thing except for my newfound joy at being beside Stefan. During the movie, I kept noticing him looking over at me or tickling my arm or whispering in my ear, endearing but a little annoying. When the film ended, I asked him if he had enjoyed it and he confided in me that he hadn’t understood it very clearly.

That made sense, I thought, understanding why he hadn’t been able to pay attention. A bit of my heart went out to him – how brave he was to be exploring a new country, one he didn’t completely understand. What an adventure to go somewhere so completely out of your comfort zone. That was something I’d love to do. We went to have a hot chocolate and got comfortable in a corner booth of a retro eatery.

More than three hours passed with us in deep conversation. He told me he was from Turkey but he’d had some schooling in Europe. His manner was suave and very gentlemanly. He was four years older than me, at twenty-five. He had a beautiful smile, lovely dark eyes and wavy black hair, which he slicked back with gel.

When we left, he escorted me back to my car. I leaned against the door as we said our goodbyes. My stomach had butterflies. Would he kiss me?

As we discussed the next time we were both free, he whispered in my ear, ‘Can I kiss you goodnight?’

I nodded yes.

We kissed, first softly and then more passionately. He embraced me around my hips, pulling me closer while I ran my fingers through his hair. We separated and looked into each other’s eyes. I felt like I knew him.

I drove home that night knowing that my life had changed forever.

A couple of weeks later, during our ritual night-time phone call, he asked me to get dressed up as he had reservations for dinner that coming Friday evening. Enthused by this romantic gesture, I arrived at his place in a black halter-neck dress I had worn to last year’s birthday party. He complimented me, which I was starting to get used to, after blushing the first few times. We went to a French restaurant on Collins Street. I was impressed. He pulled out my chair and ordered my meal. It was perfect.

During dinner, he asked me to be his girlfriend. Euphoria raced through me. I adored how he treated me and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I said yes and found my first serious boyfriend. I liked that he was completely different from the Australian guys I knew and I found him to be very European and sophisticated. I had grown up watching romantic comedy films and I was looking for this sort of mature relationship, one that had been reflected to me onscreen by Meg Ryan and Drew Barrymore. He often lavished me with gifts and always paid for our dates. He gave me handwritten notes of love and even penned a poem about us. He was so romantic. We fell madly in love. I was giddy.

I wanted to introduce him to my friends after a month and they were very excited to meet him after seeing the obvious change in me. I had never found a guy who sparked my interest too much before this, even though all my girlfriends were boy-crazy. I was very independent, having the time of my life working, studying, enjoying my freedom and having an amazing time with my very close group of girlfriends. I wasn’t looking for love when I met him.

I decided to take him to a house party that one of the girls was having. He could meet everyone – the same people who were there when we first met in the nightclub, but some of the other boyfriends would also be there for him to get to know. Generally, the guys would hang out together and the girls would dance and party. I just thought that was the normal thing and he would be okay, as the other girls’ boyfriends were.

The night of the party, I could tell he was nervous and not too keen to go. I had gone over to get ready at his house, where I was spending most of my time. I was going to drive us, as he did not drive and I wouldn’t be drinking much. He was a moderate drinker, drinking much more than I would most of the time, but I excused it, as he was older and European, and he never got drunk.

He was hesitant to get dressed, preferring to lie on his bed and drink. I was a bit annoyed. At this point, even though I was experiencing love for the first time, my friends were a very high priority. He tried to entice me to stay at his house and forgo the party. I declined but I could see he wasn’t interested in going. He’d had a lot to drink at this point and he kept on drinking. He finally got dressed and we left for the party at my insistence. My excitement of my friends finally meeting my boyfriend distracted me from how drunk he was becoming. The party was in the suburbs and by the time we got there, he was completely inebriated. He could barely get out of the car and walk. I was furious but we entered the party regardless. I stayed close to my friends as usual and tried to encourage him to hang out with the guys. He kept on drinking and stood with the guys but he didn’t seem to get along with them that well. In some ways, it made sense, as he was unlike them in every way possible, but that was one of the main qualities I was attracted to. That night didn’t discourage me from being with him, and my friends were generally happy for me, if not a little uncertain what he was about.

After a while, Stefan moved to Carlton, an inner-city suburb of Melbourne where he lived with one other Turkish guy and a female student from country New South Wales. I spent nights at a time there. Other aspects of my life started fading in importance when compared to being with Stefan. I would rush from work at the studio or uni straight to his place. We would stay up talking incessantly. We cooked for each other. He would bring me coffee in the mornings. We’d spend weekends watching movies in bed. Nights were spent listening to music on the porch and gazing into each other’s eyes for hours on end. As the weather warmed, we picnicked in the city’s glorious parks. I desired nothing. I had everything figured out – love, work, family and friends.

Chapter 2

Two Years in Turkey

Stefan was doing his Masters of Business Administration (MBA) when we met and was in his final year. As our relationship progressed, he shared a big concern with me about his future after finishing. He felt he could stay in Australia and apply for permanent residency and look for a job, or he could go home to Turkey, with his flashy international degree and fluency in English, where he would have better job prospects. He revealed that he really wanted to go with the second option and then return to Australia with some mid-level experience under his belt and a better chance in the workforce, as he loved the Australian way of life and said he would settle here with me after his work experience period. Then the question came: ‘Will you come to Turkey with me?’ I thought about it. This was a really big deal. I loved travelling and it was a priority for me. I loved him. My life would still be here when we returned. So, I decided it aligned for me on many levels and I agreed that I would go for a maximum of two years. He was fine with that and thought the period was sufficient enough to be inspiring but not so long as to be suffocating.

My friends, in particular, thought I was insane when I told them I was moving to Turkey for two years with my boyfriend of eight months. However, I explained that I respected Stefan’s decision and I didn’t want to break up or give him an ultimatum. I couldn’t fathom being without him. Having not fulfilled my need to explore the world, I thought this ticked a few boxes for me personally too, which they agreed with. I wanted to learn more about where he was from, to meet his family and get to know that side of him. I felt it was very important since I was considering our relationship in the long term. My family could understand that and they were supportive, as they’d never seen me so happy. Knowing not much more about the country, other than the fact that Turkish delight was one of my favourite sweets, I dived straight in.

I had always been a bit rebellious and keen for adventure. At the tender age of twenty-two, this would be my second time living overseas. As a young girl, I’d had America in my sights after growing up on a steady diet of Hollywood films and celebrity culture. Taking a gap year, I had found myself in Los Angeles with my best friend, who fancied herself an actress. We got up to all sorts of mischief and copious amounts of fun before the party was over and we came home, back to reality. Not too long after we got back, I had met Stefan.

Stefan was thrilled at my decision and he said he would organise everything over there and make it as easy as possible for me. He would help me get a job and his family would provide accommodation for us. He told me how many foreigners lived there and that I would easily be able to teach English and make friends. It was more than I expected or thought we needed, but it just added to my confidence in him. We decided he would go first and I would come a month later, after I quit my photography job, deferred the end of my degree and took time to say my goodbyes to beloved friends and family.

At this time, I became increasingly aware of the general sense of apprehension of me going to a Middle Eastern country. ‘What if you have to be a Muslim?’ I was asked. ‘What if you’re never allowed to shave your armpits?’, ‘What if someone captures you for ransom?’ This certainly gave me pause but sounded a little outrageous at the same time. I knew Stefan and I trusted him. I felt safe with him. I knew he would look after me. I thought, if people were like him, I would be okay. I could always leave if it didn’t work out. I am a very strong character and an independent spirit and not much scares me. I knew I could look after myself and I was confident of my judgement of situations. For the next month or so, my answer to these scenarios and the general questions of why I was going became, ‘Because I’m fearless,’ shutting down any further questions.

Nonetheless, these warnings always stayed in the back of my mind and I bought a return ticket, which I kept hidden away with $2000 cash and my passport for the next two years. I knew I was a taking a risk, a risk on love I thought, and I decided to jump. I didn’t feel in my heart there was any other choice – he was my person, he was my future.

*

About six months after arriving in Istanbul, I started to slowly settle in. It was vastly divergent from my effortless existence in Melbourne, but we created routines together.

Istanbul is built around the strategic international waterway of the Bosphorus Strait, an important trade thoroughfare – wars have been waged to control it. The city of 17 million, a few million short of Australia’s entire population, is spilt by the strait into two different sides, referred to by locals as the European and the Asian side. The European side has more visual ruminants of the ancient past of the city, like remains of the walls of Constantinople and the Hagia Sophia, which was originally built as a Greek Orthodox Christian church and then with the changing face of the city was turned into an imperial mosque, and now stands as a museum. It also houses the central business district and cultural and shopping hubs of the city. Most tourists arrive on the European side via Istanbul’s largest airport, Atatürk International, and often don’t venture to the other side. The Asian side has a much younger vibe. There is better city planning with wider streets and more universities and schools. It is settled with mostly students and younger families, as the cost of living is more affordable than on the established European side of Istanbul.

We were living in the neighbourhood of Ataköy, part of the larger municipality of Bakırköy, in Istanbul’s west on the European side of the city. In a chronically disorganised city with no consideration given to town planning, Ataköy is different. It was built as a satellite town to house the upper middle class and is a well-planned space spread over an extensive area by the Marmara Sea. Ataköy is residential with high-rise apartments, generally around twenty floors high. There are green spaces to be found and many gardens outside the apartment buildings, which are rare sights in other parts of the city.

Stefan’s family were only blocks away to either side of the apartment we were staying in, keen to help in any way possible. However, we largely hibernated together, creating a world of our own. I was content in our blissful bubble, given the opportunity to soak in my love nest, avoiding many of the realities new couples face. We had a fully furnished apartment with an ocean view, a car at our disposal and Stefan to handle any Turkish interactions and ferry me around to the western parts of town, largely escaping many of Istanbul’s trials and tribulations. The one cloud in my sunny sky was my homesickness. I missed home. I longed for my friends. I wanted to share this with my family.

But as is always the case, real life reared its ugly head after a while and both Stefan and I had to work and partake in life. He started first and that was a reality check for me. Here I was, on my own for hours upon hours in this apartment. I was in this city just for him and I realised how much I had given up. Homesickness is not an accurate word for how I felt, I simply longed and dreamed to be home and back in my life. But then – Stefan. I wanted more than anything to be with him. I felt very torn. He saw this and tried to help me to start settling in. I decided to get to know his family but, try as I might, I was at odds with the language, which became a natural barrier between his parents and me.

Stefan’s mother, Göknur, seemed very pleased at our union, so we persevered through the language barrier. I felt welcomed by her and she tried her best to entertain me in those early solitary days, and we created a bond. She asked me to call her ‘new mother’, which I happily did in the absence of my own mum. Her English was limited, as was my Turkish, but we found ways to communicate, with lots of hand gestures and knowing looks. She would take me to her community ‘English lessons’ but they were more of a retiree catch-up than an active lesson. Then she paraded me around to numerous ‘morning teas’, but I ended up feeling more like a shiny new possession than a welcomed member. I started to realise I fit the bill of foreign bride perfectly – long blonde hair, blue eyes, polite smile, no Turkish.

Stefan’s sister Didem was six years older than me, and spoke wonderful English. We spent time together but we would never be on the same level; we were very different people. She was a great sister-in-law type but she would never be the intimate friend I soon realised I needed badly. I’m a girls’ girl and I saw that I wasn’t going to survive here without a close friendship to lean on. Until then, I concentrated on the friends I had, and with the recent introduction of email and MSN messenger, I spent all day, every day, communicating with my friendship group back at home. I was never short of a story in such a place, and my friends were readily available for me day and night to keep up to date with my adventures, most of them thinking I was utterly crazy for going there. Internet in private homes was not common in Turkey, so Stefan introduced me to one of many local internet cafes. One was within walking distance, so that became my home away from home.

It was a basic place, with tan-coloured desks, mostly arranged into rows, and dusty white PCs lined up with numbers atop the screens to separate them. There were two rooms: one for gamers with accessories and headphones, and the other for drop-ins and people who were working. I preferred the second room, although both were infused with cigarette smoke.

Stefan came in with me at the start and told the manager to look out for me and that I didn’t understand Turkish. They served nescafe (the word they used for instant coffee, which I was going to have to get used to as brewed coffee was non-existent and I hadn’t taken to the unfiltered, bitter Turkish coffee) as well as other refreshments, which I figured out how to order eventually. Occasionally I saw people have food delivered, and I would always feel envious but, of course, I didn’t know how to do that. I often just brought a simit (circular sesame bread) from a street seller on my way over. When I would have problems with the connection, I would use hand gestures and they’d send one of the technical kids over to fix it.

One afternoon, the filthy but kindly manager, never without a cigarette falling from his mouth, approached a girl and must have asked her to help me when none of his tech guys were around. She walked over with a confident stride and said, ‘Oh, excuse me, the manager here asked me if I would help you. What’s wrong with your computer?’

Oh my god! Who are you? I thought. My eyes widened and my mouth fell open, while I pulled my head back in surprise. ‘Do you speak English?’ was all I could muster.

‘Yes, I’m a translator and I’m doing some work here,’ she answered perfectly.

That was the start of my beautiful friendship with Ayda. She was hesitant to befriend me at first, but I pursued her like a dog pursues a bone and I finally scored my first friend in Istanbul. We were inseparable most days. I don’t think I could have stayed in Istanbul without her. Turkey was a shock to my system. She had wisdom beyond her years and fell hook, line and sinker for our love story, helping me through all the questions of love and the future I had. Above all, she helped ease the huge hole in my heart, where Australia was missing. Stefan, of course, was all of this and more, but I needed her female friendship as well. He was thrilled for me and she became part of my Istanbul story.

Never in any friendship I’ve had, before or since, have I explored the meaning of life, the concepts of love and femininity, spirituality, creativity, culture, history, education, astrology and many other deep subjects. We just couldn’t stop talking. We were soul friends. We inspired each other and brought very different perspectives on life but we had much in common at the same time.

At the internet cafe, we often worked side by side, her translating, my keeping up with home, but our talking was done at a cafe close by called Bahçe, meaning ‘garden’ in Turkish. A beautiful wood-panelled interior with an open fire led to a covered ‘secret garden’ with trees and plants, decorated with little gnomes, pottery, decorative plates, statues, a pond with baby turtles scurrying around, vines and hanging flower pots, candles and fairy lights to create a magical place that suited us perfectly. The owner, who had a close a friendship with Ayda, was usually there and would often make comments for her to translate to me. I never spoke myself and just smiled. It was a very calm environment and we had a tradition of ordering tiramisu, which we ate while confessing secrets and sharing dreams.

If I wasn’t with Stefan, I was with Ayda, and they both helped me learn the ropes of living in Turkey, or more correctly, allowed me to skim the surface of living there. I’m not the type who could have come here alone and made it. I did meet those types when I was accepted to be a ‘teacher’ at Stefan’s old primary school through his family’s ‘connections’. I was delighted to interact with other foreigners and